


The Cadaver-maker

by kageillusionz



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:56:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/pseuds/kageillusionz
Summary: In which Eames really should do something about his self-preservation instincts after finding a stack of business cards with the words 'The Cadaver-maker' on his dining table and no idea how they got there.





	The Cadaver-maker

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: spooning.
> 
> The premise is based off an idea that a friend of mine gave me as we were discussing typography on the way home. Not that, I'm sure, this is where she thinks the idea would end up. :D
> 
> Unbeta'd at this moment.

There is a singular stack of business cards sitting on the dining room table. It hadn't been there when Eames had stumbled in, having gotten off a red-eye at ass o'clock that morning after pulling off a heist that ran forever. And the pile certainly hadn't been there when Arthur had - despite it being ass o'clock in the morning because Arthur had stayed up like a crazy person to wait for him - enthusiastically welcomed Eames home and probably giving prim and proper Mrs Ponsonby from next door something to disapprove of at the next strata meeting. It had been a shame that Eames hadn't the energy to dramatize the amazing sex for maximum neighbour scarring.

Eames frowns at the stack, idly scratching at his stubble and picks up the top-most card. He had ventured out of their bed for water after his nap.

The Cadaver-maker, it says in black and white over surgical white cardstock with a linen finish. Eames' eyebrows rises to his hairline as he rubs an appreciative thumb over the debossing, then flips it over. On the back, there are a series of digits that make no sense to Eames.

Global coordinates? A Timestamp? Or both? Eames ponders as he fills a glass, wondering whether he ought to be alarmed that Arthur is not all who he seems to be. Perhaps Arthur worked for the opposition? Could it be that one day Eames would find himself brutally murdered because of some tiny indiscretion against some criminal family? Or perhaps in Eames' absence, Arthur had developed an interest in embalming and took up courses.

Well, self -preservation and menacing titles with cryptic messages aside, there was only one way to find out.

He refills the glass for Arthur and shambles back into the bedroom, setting the water on the bedside table before settling in again behind the warm shagged out lump on their bed.

"Darling," Eames whispers against the little hairs at Arthur's sweaty nape.

"Mmm?"

"On a scale of one to ten, how likely am I going to meet the Cadaver-maker?"

He doesn't feel Arthur stiffen in his arms, which Eames interprets as a good sign, and all of a sudden Arthur is wriggling in Eames' hold until they are face-to-face.

"Ah," Arthur says around a magnificent yawn and keeps his eyes closed. "I was hoping those cards would have gotten here sooner."

"Sooner, as in before your fabulous and gorgeous boyfriend came back and finds out about your new hobby to have an awkward conversation about it?" Eames hedges.

"Mmm, no."

Eames huffs a laugh, brushing his lips against Arthur's forehead. "No to which part? The hobby part or the awkward conversation part."

"I see you left out the part about fabulous and gorgeous boyfriends."

"That," Eames says rather smugly, "is something should have brought up earlier if you had objections, you know, before we shacked up together. Do you keep a cupboard full of formaldehyde now?"

Arthur opens an eye and gives him a remarkable stink eye. "I keep all of that next to the, ah how did you put it, 'faithful copy of Matisse's Sleeping Nude' which is neither faithful nor a copy."

Eames blinks slowly, letting his smug smile grow ever wider just like the wealth of warm fuzzy feelings inside his belly.  "Darling."

Arthur turns back around like a rotisserie and wraps Eames' warm arms around his belly, settling in for the beginnings of a long cuddle. "So, a zero." And that is that, as far as Arthur is concerned with closing the topic of conversation. "And I hope and strongly encourage that it stays that way."

"But," Eames begins, knowing better than to poke a sleeping bear, but he is just so curious about this whole new side of Arthur that he has just discovered. "I have so many questions, darling."

"Are you sure you want the answers to them?" Arthur brushes his fingers over Eames' forearm, running fingertips languidly over the hair there. "You can't claim blissful ignorance or plausible deniability once you know."

"... Do you know John Wick? Like, did someone really kill his dog? Do you have a cache of weapons hidden in the concrete somewhere? Inquiring minds must know."

Arthur groans and allows Eames to run a line of kisses over the nearest shoulder. There is probably another conversation to be had about occupational health and safety. 

But later. Much later.

“Wait,” Eames says lifting his head and not getting very far what with Arthur acting like a starfish on him. “Did you leave those cards out on purpose? Like a test to see if I would run for the hills screaming that my boyfriend has a really badass title with the implicit suggestion that he may or may not be in the murder business?”

Arthur snorts, running the tip of his nose between Eames’ shoulder blades and tightens his starfish hold around Eames. “Evidently as you have unwisely chosen not to do that, I’ve decided to keep you, Mr Eames."


End file.
